


Dying to Breathe Again

by coreopsis



Category: Alkaline Trio (Band), Bandom
Genre: AU, Established Relationship, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Mild D/s, Phone Sex, RPS - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-26
Updated: 2010-08-26
Packaged: 2017-10-11 06:25:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/109435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coreopsis/pseuds/coreopsis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/92541">Piano Man</a>.  Bob refuses to settle for a life that is just okay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dying to Breathe Again

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Phone Sex square on my Kink Bingo card. Title taken from Gaslight Anthem, as is so often the case. Thanks to Nemoinis and Mahoni for support and being all around awesome people. I pretty much wrote this especially for Mahoni and then got her beta it and hold my hand while I finished it, so she probably deserves a little extra props. :)

Bob used to be satisfied with his life. Maybe he wasn't happy, but he wasn't miserable either. He was okay. His life, his career, everything was simply _okay_. Then he walked into a hotel lounge and struck up a conversation with the guy playing piano.

From that moment on, simply okay just wasn't good enough anymore, and neither was having safe, uncomplicated relationships with boring men just like himself.

And that's how he ended up in a long distance relationship with a piano playing punk rocker who lives in a house with three other guys and spends his free time surfing and skateboarding and getting even more tattoos.

***

Bob walks out of the Lewis Industries conference room feeling like he's just woken up from a long nap. Every single participant in the meeting had the kind of droning voice that Bob associates with the really boring teachers he had in school. When he takes his phone out to turn the ringer back on, he has several texts waiting. He ignores all the work-related ones and opens the one from Matt.

_Send me some sexy pix_ is all it says. Bob waits until he's in the elevator alone before texting back _Of what?_.

Bob is down in the parking garage climbing into his rental car when the next message comes in: _Of you. duh. I miss you &amp; need something to jerk off to besides my imagination_.

_Buy some porn,_ Bob sends, then immediately texts again, _Driving now. I'll call you from the hotel after dinner meeting._

When Bob gets to the restaurant where he's meeting Lewis's competitors, he gets another text just as he goes to set his phone to silent. _Why buy porn when you could send me some for free, stingy fucker. I know yr phone has a camera._

Bob doesn't reply to that one. He'll save it for when he talks to Matt directly later. One of the drawbacks of only seeing each other every few weeks is that they don't know a lot of the little everyday things that most couples probably take for granted.

The dinner meeting is slightly less boring by virtue of having good food to focus on when the reps from Madden Inc. are falling all over themselves to convince him that their company can provide his company with the very best service and product and blah blah whatever. He tries to pay attention because it's his job to make the best choice and he needs to be informed, but his mind keeps drifting to the prospect of talking to Matt later, of seeing Matt if he can wrap this up in time to fly down and spend a couple days in L.A. before he has to be back in Chicago on Monday.

"So, Bob, do you agree that we can form a partnership that would be advantageous for both of us?" The rep flashes his brightest salesman smile and what Bob thinks is that he really wishes they'd quit saying his name in every sentence like verbal punctuation.

Bob keeps his expression neutral when he says, "I still have a lot of information to go through and I'll need to talk to the lawyers, so I'll let you know before noon tomorrow."

The reps smile like they smell victory in the air and Bob motions to the server for the check. He can't wait to get out of Sacramento and see Matt again.

 

***

"How can you hate cameras? You let Dan take a picture of the two of us together a couple months ago and didn't complain."

Bob shrugs even though Matt can't see him over the phone and continues undressing. He hangs up his jacket and pants, tosses his shirt on the end of the bed, and gets his shaving kit out of his suitcase. "That was a rare exception because it made you happy. And he gave me a copy, so I got a picture of you out of it."

Matt makes a thoughtful sound and, after a moment, says, "Is there anything else I should know about that hasn't come up yet? Any phobias or kinks or past trauma you want to share? You don't wake up screaming from nightmares about that time you were abducted by aliens, do you?"

"No, I worked through that one in therapy," Bob says, equally deadpan, as he walks into the bathroom.

"Was there anal probing?" Bob can just imagine the unholy grin on Matt's face.

"Of course. Only the perverted aliens abduct people. There are probably some aliens that just do their thing and live their lives not bothering anyone, but we never hear about them. The probe-happy aliens give them all a bad name."

"They need better P.R.," Matt says.

"They really do." Bob changes the subject so he can brush his teeth while Matt talks. "So how's writing going?"

"I've got maybe a dozen songs in various stages of completion and only four of them are about you in some way. I don't know if this new drummer is going to work out, though. He's got his own vision, you know what I mean?" Bob makes an agreeing sound around his toothbrush and Matt continues, "But we'll give him a shot. And by the way, don't think I didn't notice what you just did there, cleverly avoiding telling me anything about yourself."

Bob finishes brushing and spits toothpaste into the sink, and says, "What do you want to know?" before filling a glass with water and rinsing his mouth.

"Do you secretly have a wife and six kids tucked away in a sweet little cottage with a white picket fence? Am I your bit on the side? Because I gotta tell you I'm feeling a little neglected. You might have to buy me some jewelry to make up for it."

"Wait, when did I become your sugar daddy?"

"Come on, you think I'm gonna put out for free?"

"Well, yeah." Bob laughs and wipes his mouth with a towel before saying, "But I've bought you drinks before too."

"That'll do it," Matt agrees ruefully and then. "Robert. Seriously now."

"Matthew, seriously," Bob mimics, then relents. "No, I don't have a wife and six or any other number of kids. You are more than welcome to come to Chicago and see my apartment. All I have is a cat, that mostly lives with my mom because I'm on the road all the time, and a desire for a dog or two, but there's that whole on the road all the time thing. My life is...a life. It's boring when viewed from the outside, but it's mine. Actually since I met you, it looks pretty boring from the inside too."

"I make your life boring?" Matt doesn't seem offended exactly, but Bob realizes how that sounded.

"Oh, no. Shit. No, I just mean you make me realize how boring the rest of my life is. The parts that don't involve you."

"Uh huh," Matt says flatly.

Bob turns off the bathroom light and goes back to sit on the bed as he rushes to reassure. "Come on, don't be mad. You know what I meant, right?"

"Yeah, I guess." Bob has never heard an audible pout before until Matt adds, "Just tell me I'm younger and prettier than your picket fence wife?"

"Yes, you are younger and prettier than my imaginary wife that doesn't exist," Bob says redundantly and wearily, as the day catches up with him all in a rush. He adds quietly, "There's nobody else."

"Nobody at all? Not even at 2 am when you're lonely in some city you've never been in and a hot young bartender starts giving you the eye?"

"Not even then." Bob shoves down the covers so he can stretch out on the sheets instead of the slick hotel comforter, and says, "What about you? What happens at 2 am when a hot young bartender gives you the eye?"

"I look right back at him and say, 'hey, I know you're young and hot and so am I, but I have a boyfriend' and then I let him blow me in the bathroom." Matt cracks up laughing before Bob can even react and then says quickly, "Joking! I'm only joking. I don't really do that."

"You're not funny."

"Yes, I am."

"Maybe sometimes," Bob concedes, but he doesn't laugh. The idea of Matt with someone else makes him feel jealous for the first time in years.

Matt huffs out a quiet breath and his voice is much more serious when he says, "I haven't. Nobody's been near my dick since the last time I saw you. This long distance thing sucks."

"Yeah, it does. I miss your dick." Bob laughs quietly as Matt makes an indignant sound, then adds, "Oh and the rest of you too, I guess."

"Son of a bitch. You need to fuck me," Matt says all low and shivery and suddenly none of it is funny any more.

"Actually, I was thinking," Bob says slowly, feeling his way around how he wants to proceed. "I was thinking that maybe next time we get together we could, um you know, switch it up a little. If you were interested."

"I am so fucking interested. I'm going to be jerking off to thoughts of fucking you for a long time."

At the mention of jerking off Bob thinks there's no time like the present and shoves his boxers down. It's a little awkward with one hand, but then he's got his cock out and Matt breathing in his ear and it doesn't take much to get him hard. He licks his lips and says, "But first I want to get down on my knees for you."

After a brief and breathless pause, Matt sounds intrigued when he says, "Interesting way to put it. You want more than just to suck me off. You could do that any way, any position. It doesn't have to be all subby or--"

"I want--no, I _need_ to give up control for a while. Something...something to break the boredom and make me feel...just feel. You do that already, but I want." Bob has to swallow hard and give his cock a stoke or two. Just thinking about letting Matt do whatever he wants to Bob is making him flushed and twitchy and trying to put it into words is almost beyond him. "More."

"Okay, all right. Give me a second," Matt says and Bob can hear a door shutting in the background. When Matt speaks again, his voice is soft but firm. "Where are you right now? What are you wearing?"

"In bed. T-shirt and boxers."

"Take them off. I want you completely naked." Something about the way Matt says it makes Bob scramble to obey even though, since Matt can't see him, he could lie and say he did.

"I want to try something," Matt says thoughtfully like he's working out a problem. "I want you to visualize what I'm about to tell you, but I don't want you to touch your cock yet, only what I say you can touch. Can you do that for me, Bob?"

"Yes," Bob says, gripping the phone so hard his fingers ache. He leaves his other hand lying loose on the bed beside him, awaiting Matt's instructions.

"Are you naked?" Bob grunts affirmatively and Matt continues, "See, I want to be able to visualize too. Are you lying down? Flat on your back or propped up on the pillows? Are you in a king or a double? Is the hotel quiet?"

"Do you want me lying down or sitting up?"

"Lying down is fine. However you're comfortable."

"Okay, then I'll do that." Bob takes a moment to adjust the pillows under his head, and then continues, "To answer your other questions, the bed's a king, and it's very quiet."

Matt hums and the sound skitters all over Bob's skin. Only being able to hear Matt's voice and not see or touch him almost makes Bob feel like he's bound and blindfolded. And that's exciting and just a little scary, but mostly arousing. Even though the room is cool and he doesn't even have the sheet covering him anymore, he's so warm he's starting to sweat, and Matt hasn't actually said much of anything yet.

"Bob," Matt says, getting Bob's focus back on him. "The next time you come out here, I'm taking you straight to my room. I'm going to strip you just as naked as you are right now and I won't allow you to put on any clothes until I say you can. I know you don't like being naked for extended periods of time, but it's not about what you like. It's about what you need. I'm going to give you what you need, Bob."

Bob finds the rhythm in Matt's words, his voice low and mesmerizing, and clenches his hand in time with it, digging his fingers into the too-soft mattress beneath him. "Okay."

"I want you on your knees. I'm gonna put you there myself, shove you to the floor and hold you down. You look so good on your knees. So fucking hot."

Bob can almost feel the worn carpet under his knees, gritty from the sand that Matt tracks in and then forgets to clean up. Can almost feel Matt's hand on the back of his neck, warm and rough, holding him still and steady, making him wait until he's so tense he's about to snap.

"Open your mouth." Bob's mouth falls open on a gasp and Matt makes a low sound from the back of his throat, and his voice is hoarse when he says, "Suck on your fingers, pretend it's my cock filling your mouth and crowding your throat. Think about what it'll be like when I fuck your face. You can take it. You love it, don't you?"

"Mmm hmm," is all the answer Bob can manage as he sucks two fingers into his mouth, making just enough noise so that Matt can hear him through the phone. It's not the same as Matt's cock, it's not enough, not nearly fucking enough, but it's all he's got right now and he takes it.

"Are you obeying me?" Bob makes an affirmative sound around his fingers and he can hear Matt's smile when he says, "Good, good, I knew you would."

The rhyme and rhythm of Matt's remark makes Bob think of music and how he'd known that Matt was worth doing the long-distance thing for the first time he saw him on stage with his band. He'd known Matt for all of two days when he went down to a dumpy little bar with amazing acoustics and gave his name to the guy at the door, hoping that he really was on the list as Matt assured he would be. Matt had taken one look at his clothes and grinned. Bob had been on a business trip so it's not like he'd packed hoodies and jeans just in case he got the entirely improbable chance of going to a punk gig, but the next thing he knew Matt was coming back to the bar with a worn-but-mostly-clean black Jawbreaker t-shirt clutched in his hand and nearly stripped Bob right there in front of everyone to make him put it on. That was a weird and discomfiting experience, but then Matt took the stage and Bob knew he had to see where this might go. Watching Matt play, hearing the music he put his heart and soul into, that had changed Bob in some way he was still figuring out.

"Bob," Matt says sharply, drawing Bob's attention away from his memories and back to the present. "Are you touching your cock?"

"No," Bob says, and it's so muffled he takes his fingers out of his mouth to ask, "Why?"

"Your breathing changed."

"Really? You could tell that?"

"I'm a musician. I notice patterns," Matt says, offhand and casual, his mind clearly somewhere else. And Bob can see where when he says, "Do you want to? Touch yourself?"

"Wish it was you," Bob says, even though he meant to simply say "yes" and leave it at that.

Under other circumstances, Matt would have probably laughed at that--not at Bob, he never laughs _at_ Bob in a mean way. He just finds humor in nearly everything. But this time he just sighs and says, "Me too. I wasn't lying when I said I miss you. Now'd be a good time to take a picture to send me."

"Kinda busy here," Bob says and slides his wet fingers down the center of his chest. He's so turned on it hurts, and he needs to get a hand on his neglected cock, needs to come, needs it, _needs_ it. He stops his hand's downward journey just short of where he really wants it and says, "May I? Please?"

"Yes, you may...touch your chest, pinch a nipple, hard or soft as you want."

"Fuck," Bob says before he can stop himself, even as he follows Matt's directions a little resentfully. Pinching too hard and imagining Matt's grabby fingers doing it instead.

"Oh? Is that not what you wanted?" Now Matt sounds amused and Bob squirms against the sheets, desperately wanting some friction. "Now stroke the inside of your thigh, right up to your balls. Are you doing it? Yeah, you are. Because you know when I fuck you, I'm going to dig my fingers in _right there_, yeah, that spot--"

Bob does know. He presses his fingers against the inside of his thigh and spreads his legs by reflex.

"--and spread you wide open. Fuck, I'll bet you're tight. How long's it been, Bob? How long since someone has held you down and given you the good hard fucking you so obviously need?"

Bob lets his knuckles rub up against the underside of his balls, feeling like he's getting away with breaking the rules, as he says, "Um. I don't know. Couple years at least."

"Holy shit, are you serious? No wonder you're gagging for it. Poor neglected Bob. Nobody you've been with in all that time gave you what you really needed? Fuck, man."

"It's not like there were that many. And I'm not--I don't need your pity."

"No, no, it's not pity. I get it. It's hard to ask for what you want sometimes. I appreciate that you trust me enough to-- you do trust me, right?"

"Obviously," Bob says shortly and licks his hand before wrapping it around his cock. "Fuck it, I have to--"

"Go ahead. Jerk off and think about it, how I'm going to push you down on my bed and fuck you until you're begging me to let you come. Can you beg, Bob? I'll bet you beg so pretty." Matt alternates between sounding intense and dreamy and Bob can imagine him so clearly, sprawled across his unmade bed, all slinky hips and long legs, one hand holding his phone and the other stroking himself off furiously. He probably used way too much lube again and his dick is all slippery and shiny, sliding through his fist faster and faster as his hips arch off the bed into each thrust.

Bob pumps his hand quicker, matching Matt's rhythm in his imagination. It's not what he really wants, but it's good enough for now. He hits it perfectly, just bam, bam, and then there it is, and Matt moans in his ear and that's it, fuck yeah, he's coming. He tilts his head back and barely keeps the phone in his sweaty grip, as he comes hard to the accompaniment of Matt's breathless voice saying, "Yeah, yeah, oh God, yeah, fuck," before he breaks off with a ragged groan.

For a few minutes, they lie there and just breathe together, and Bob can almost imagine that Matt is right next to him instead of four hundred miles away.

But he's not.

"What have you got planned for the next few days?" Bob eventually says, just when the silence is approaching awkward.

"Nothing special. The usual. Why?"

"As soon as I get everything wrapped up tomorrow, I'm catching the next flight to LA. I'll text you the details as soon as I have them."

"How long can you stay?"

"I have to be back in Chicago on Monday. I wish it was longer, but. I have to see you."

"No, I understand." Matt chuckles ruefully, lessening the tightness in Bob's chest. "You gotta do your thing. I knew that when I met you."

They say goodnight soon after that and Bob falls asleep wondering just what his thing really is. He always thought he knew, but now he's not so sure.

***

The flight is one hour and twenty minutes, but it feels like Bob has been on the plane for three days when he finally makes it down to baggage claim at LAX. Through the floor length windows, he catches a glimpse of Matt standing outside, yawning and looking at his watch.

Even though it seems to take a small eternity for his suitcase to come down the conveyor, Bob is smiling while he waits. When he gets his suitcase, he pulls the handle up and straps his laptop and carryon bag onto the top, so he can have both arms free in a hurry.

When he walks out the door, pulling his bags behind him, Matt calls his name and catches him up in a bear hug. Bob wraps his arms around Matt and holds on tight.

"Can't wait to get you home," Matt whispers, and Bob feels a brand new kind of warmth spread through him. _Home_.

 

They make it all the way to the car before they break. As soon as Bob's bags are stowed in the trunk, they both reach for each other at the same time. Matt pushes Bob up against the side of the car and Bob pulls him in close. Their lips meet so smoothly it's like the whole thing's been choreographed. Or like it hasn't been four weeks since they spent a too-short night together in a hotel in San Diego or nine weeks since Matt flew out to meet Bob in Denver for an entire weekend (and that was only after Bob insisted that the ticket was paid for with his frequent flyer miles and not any actual money. For all his joking about being Bob's mistress, Matt can get pretty defensive when Bob tries to give him too much.)

Bob curves his hands around Matt's hips and pulls him closer, nipping at his lower lip before licking inside his mouth, delicate and teasing. Matt makes a helpless sound in the back of his throat and slides a hand up Bob's side under his jacket while the other comes up and tangles in Bob's hair.

They break apart when someone comes down the row, dragging a huge suitcase that has a squeaky wheel. Bob opens his eyes slowly and looks up into Matt's eyes. "Hi."

"Hi." Matt smiles and doesn't move back. "How was your flight?"

"Not very interesting," Bob says, brushing a chaste kiss on Matt's cheek as he lets his hands wander up and down Matt's back before settling right above his waistband. "But this is."

Matt laughs low and warm, leaning in and pushing their hips together. He ignores the guy loading his squeaky bag a few cars down and kisses Bob again. Not a public kiss, but the kind of hungry get-reacquainted kiss that they usually save for when they are alone. Ordinarily Bob would be appalled at the way they are both acting, but he's just as starving for it as Matt seems to be so he opens his mouth a little wider and welcomes Matt's tongue.

Bob lets Matt's weight settle against him, squashing him against the car door. He's getting all hot and sweaty, but he doesn't care because it feels so good to have Matt pressed up against him instead of just being a voice on the phone or words on a screen. There's probably more than a hint of desperation in the way he's kissing Matt back, but he doesn't care about that either. His head is spinning with all the things Matt said he'd do to him.

Matt lifts his head and the hazy, almost stoned look on his face makes Bob smile even as he's secretly thrilled that he can make Matt look like that. He eases Matt back a little so that they're both standing up straight instead of lying up against the car. "Are we going to stay here all day or are you going to make good on your promises?"

Matt reaches around Bob to unlock the door and then unhooks the sunglasses from the collar of his t-shirt and slides them on his face. "I always keep my promises."

 

***

 

The rug under his bare knees feels soft and clean, and Matt laughs when Bob comments on it. "What? I didn't even know you owned a vacuum cleaner. The other time--"

"It's been four months. Let it go." Matt finishes undressing himself and then moves to stand in front of Bob. He threads the fingers of one hand into Bob's hair and tilts Bob's head back. "My housekeeping skills should be the least of your concerns right now."

Bob had been trying to distract himself from the fact that he's naked, but now that Matt is looking down at him with bright fascinated eyes, that's all Bob can think about. He feels more exposed than he's ever been. He's taking a huge risk, laying his most private desires out for Matt, but it feels right. This could be what makes or breaks them.

Matt tightens his grip on Bob's hair and runs the tip of a finger across Bob's bottom lip. A shudder goes through Bob's stomach and his hands twitch open and closed at his sides. Matt licks his lips and says, "You sure?"

Bob would nod if he could move his head, but he can't so he swallows hard and says, "Yeah, I--I am."

Matt nods and doesn't smile, giving every appearance of taking this completely seriously. He presses on Bob's bottom lip until he opens his mouth, and then he takes his hand away. Bob drags his gaze away from Matt's face down to where Matt is giving his cock a couple of strokes to get it completely hard. Bob's been hard from anticipation ever since Matt planted his hands on Bob's shoulders and pushed him to the floor.

Bob's mouth is dry until Matt rubs the smooth head of his cock across Bob's lips. His mouth waters and he opens up, and Matt pushes in gently at first and then with more force when Bob opens wider and just takes it. Bob swallows convulsively and suppresses his gag reflex when Matt tilts his head back and goes a little deeper. Bob stares up at Matt who looks down at him with wide eyes and says, "Fuck. Bob, I-- _fuck_."

The reverence in his voice would make Bob smile if his mouth wasn't too full, so he moves his tongue along the underside of Matt's cock and gives him a long hard suck. Matt groans and pulls Bob's hair when his hand jerks on the back of Bob's head, the slight pain almost lost in the pleasure flooding him. When Bob does it again, Matt makes an almost helpless sound from deep in his chest and bucks his hips. He watches Bob carefully and Bob blinks slowly to let him know it's good. Bob closes his eyes as Matt finally takes all control away from him and fucks his mouth, fast and shallow at first, but then using his grip on Bob's hair to change the angle, he pushes into Bob's throat, and Bob nearly chokes but he swallows and moans and yes, _yes_. It hurts a little, but it's good, so fucking good, being used and taken and just completely overwhelmed by Matt.

Bob's lips nudge Matt's fingers where they circle the base of his cock, and he makes a whiney sound that Matt interprets correctly. He moves his fingers away and gives Bob that last inch. He murmurs something Bob can't make out over the rushing of blood in his ears and then wraps his hand around the back of Bob's neck. Matt's hands are strong from playing guitar and piano, and the callouses on his fingertips scratch Bob's skin when he squeezes the nape of his neck. Matt isn't hurting him, but he _could_. A shudder works its way down Bob's spine as he reaches up and grabs Matt's hips. Not to push him away, just to feel the muscles move under his skin as he thrusts into Bob's mouth. Over and over again.

Bob swallows to keep from choking on his own saliva and he can feel it leaking from the corners of his mouth. His jaw is aching and his tongue feels raw and he loves it. Matt is making these low, lewd sounds and saying, "Yeah, take it, I wanna come all over your face--"

Closing his eyes, Bob groans and Matt shudders and turns Bob's neck loose so he can grab the base of his cock and squeeze hard. "Not yet. I have to--you want me to fuck you."

He can't really nod so Bob pleads with his eyes as best he can and Matt groans, "Holy mother of pearl, I want to give you everything in the fucking world when you look at me like that."

Bob circles Matt's hand with his, holding Matt's cock and letting it slide almost out of his mouth, so he can run his tongue all around the head and across the slit, tasting the salt of precome and, _fuck_, Matt has to be so close now.

"No." Matt jerks back and Bob leans forward to follow, his mouth feeling too empty. Matt catches Bob's jaw in his hand and holds him back. "Can't come yet if I'm gonna fuck you."

"Come now and fuck later," Bob says--or tries to say but his voice is completely wrecked.

Matt seems to understand because he shakes his head, and takes a shaky step to Bob's side. "You don't get to call the shots today, Bob. Get your ass on the bed."

Bob would jump to obey, but his knees hurt and his feet are all pins and needles. Matt hooks his hands under Bob's arms and drags him to his feet, shoving him down onto the bed when Bob stumbles. Bob catches himself on one hand, already reaching for his cock with the other. Matt smacks him hard across the ass and the sharp pain shoots pleasure straight down to his balls. "Not yet."

Bob nods and collapses onto the sheets, wiping his damp face on the pillow and squirming to get some friction on his aching cock. Matt smacks his ass again and says, "Would you just hold still for a minute?"

When Bob stills, Matt leans over and soothes the burn from the slap with his tongue, humming his approval against Bob's skin. Bob shivers and forces himself to not arch up against Matt's mouth, and then Matt's gone, not touching him anywhere. Bob glances over his shoulder and catches a soft smile on Matt's face as he rolls on a condom and snaps open a bottle of lube.

Bob turns away before Matt sees him watching and wonders how he got so lucky.

Matt crawls onto the bed and digs his fingers into a soft spot on the inside of Bob's thigh, pushing his legs apart and raising his hips. Bob feels momentarily self-conscious with his ass in the air, but then Matt leans over him and licks up his spine while he pushes his thumb against Bob's hole, stretching him open in gentle increments, and Bob forgets everything except how amazing that feels. As Matt works two slick fingers in, plunging in deep and twisting slightly as he pulls back, he sinks his teeth into the back of Bob's neck and Bob groans and can't help humping the bed a little. He feels like he's been hanging on the very edge for an eternity and he's more than ready to fall over.

Matt grabs Bob's hip and holds him still as he slowly, so very fucking slowly, slides his fingers out and lines up his cock. He says, "You better be ready for this," and then pushes in, steady and relentless, not stopping until his pelvis is pressed against Bob's ass.

He feels huge and Bob knows it's not too much, but it kind of feels like it for just a moment. But instead of immediately drawing back and slamming in again, Matt just hangs there for a moment, buried deep and draped over Bob's back, brushing kisses across his shoulders and the back of his neck. He whispers, "Ready" into Bob's ear

It's not a question, but Bob says, "Please."

"Yeah, that's it. When you're ready to come, beg for it."

"Fuck," Bob grates out as Matt shifts against him. It's not even a proper thrust and he's not even close to hitting where Bob needs him to be, but it was movement and Bob is dying for some more of that. "I'm ready now, I've been ready."

Matt draws out maybe half an inch and then pushes slowly back, and says, "You're not ready."

Bob takes pleasure in how shaky Matt sounds. Bob's not the only one barely hanging on here. But Matt's not moving again, so Bob says, "Just shut up and fuck me."

Matt exhales sharply, amused, impatient, or just incredibly turned on. Maybe all three, Bob decides, as he pulls back, almost all the way out this time, leaving just the head of his cock in. Then without any warning, he slams in deep, draws back and thrusts in again, fast and hard, over and over. If Bob had any working brain cells left he'd think he could almost pick up the beat of a song--one of Matt's own compositions, a crazy fast punk song-- in the rhythm of Matt's hips and the thrust-slide-slam of his cock. It's all slick and hot, and he's so hard and Bob rocks back into it, meeting Matt's thrusts with his own backbeat and then Matt shifts his angle just right and...oh fuck, yeah.

Bob slowly becomes aware of the sounds coming out of his mouth, ragged and desperate. Begging without proper words at first, just gasping, a moan and a grunt, and then he bites his lips and the words come. "Please, Matt, please. Oh fuck, please, I gotta--I want--touch me please, God, just let me--"

"That's it. God, you're good, so hot and tight, and fucking--fucking perfect," Matt says through gritted teeth, and then he's balancing on one hand and reaching under Bob with the other. He only has to curl his fingers around Bob's cock and start to squeeze, and that's enough. Bob bucks up hard against Matt, and Matt just hangs on, holds on tight and then Bob just lets it all go. He's coming and coming and his whole body feels electric, alive, and his entire world narrows down to Matt's hand and Matt's cock, and yes. It's everything he needed, crashing into him and turning him inside out.

When he's done, Bob collapses onto the bed and is barely aware of Matt coming with a guttural groan a moment or so later, his fingers digging into Bob's hip hard enough to bruise.

Matt sinks down onto the bed next to Bob, stripping the condom off a little sloppily and tossing it at the small trashcan by the bed. Bob hears it hit the side of the can with a splat and he might be a little disgusted if he wasn't so completely fucked out. He's pretty sure he's never going to move again.

"That just might have been a religious experience," Matt mumbles with his face pressed against the mattress.

Bob snorts tiredly. "You don't believe in religion."

"No." Matt raises his head slightly and opens his eyes and meets Bob's gaze with steadiness and sincerity when he says, "But I believe in you."

Bob's chest feels like it's caught in a vise and he can't even drag in a shallow breath. He swallows hard and can feel his heart pounding against his ribcage. He has no idea what to say to that, but Matt doesn't seem to expect anything because he grins and says, "I'm totally joining the Church of Bob. You give new meaning to the phrase 'and twice on Sunday'."

Bob would laugh if he wasn't so exhausted. Instead he fumbles a hand out and latches onto Matt's fingers, gripping them tightly as he falls asleep.

***

"Where is everybody?" Bob asks as he presses gently on a bruise he left on Matt's shoulder sometime during round three. They're sitting out on the back stoop watching the sun come up, drinking wine straight from the bottle and eating potato chips after spending the evening and night fucking and falling asleep and then waking up to do it all over again. They're both sore and still damp from the shower, and it's only now that Bob has had time to realize how unusual it is that he hasn't seen or heard any of Matt's housemates coming home.

"Conveniently out of town or staying with a friend. I basically told them to get lost for a couple of days." Matt passes over the wine bottle and takes the bag of chips out of Bob's lap. He shoves a couple in his mouth and shrugs as he chews. He licks grease and salt off his fingers and says, "They didn't want to listen to our sex marathon any more than you wanted them to hear it."

Bob takes a long sip of the wine. It's a little too warm for his taste, but it's nice and tart. He sets the bottle down between Matt's bare feet and says, "Me? You mean you don't care if your friends hear you having sex?"

"No." Matt quirks an eyebrow. "They might learn something."

Bob smiles and shakes his head. "You are...unreal."

Matt just smiles back, all satisfied amusement, and then finishes off the wine. He stares up at the top of the trees where the glow of the rising sun is lining the leaves with gold and, after a moment, sighs almost silently.

"What?" Bob says, nudging Matt's knee with his.

Matt opens his mouth to say something, then shuts it and shakes his head. Bob pushes the bruise again, then wraps his arm around Matt's waist and gives him a squeeze. Matt twitches and then leans into the embrace before he slowly says, "It's just...I wish Chicago wasn't so far away."

"Yeah, about that." Bob pauses to think hard about what he's about to say because it's been this amorphous idea in the back of his head that seemed too daunting to face straight on, so he's been approaching it from oblique angles. It feels right, though--huge and kind of scary, but ultimately the course of action that will make him happy. "I've been thinking about maybe moving."

"What? Here?" Matt stares at him like this is the last thing he expected from Bob, like he thought this was going to be long distance forever or until it got too difficult to keep up and they just gave in to the inevitable crash and burn. Or maybe Bob is projecting, because he's definitely been worrying about that very probability.

"No pressure," Bob says hurriedly and looks away, focussing on the sunlight chasing the shadows across the yard. "It doesn't have to change everything or anything at all if you don't want it to. I know you have your own life and friends and routines and-- I don't want to mess that up, just... I have to do something, make a change, because I can't go on like this." Bob swallows and glances at Matt out of the corner of his eyes, afraid to face him straight on, too.

"Can you-- What about your job?"

"I'm giving notice when I get back on Monday. I've had the letter drafted for a while, just in case, someday... Even if I don't move out here, I'm not staying in a job that's killing my soul a little at a time." Bob winces when he realizes how that sounds. "I mean, you know. I want to see my cat and get a dog and sleep in my own bed for more than four nights in a row before I have to leave again. That bed can stay in Chicago, though. If that's what you want."

"Don't be stupid. I just said Chicago's too far away. Of course, I want you here. Well, not here in this house. It's too crowded already. But definitely here in this city where I can see you whenever I want." Matt is smiling by the time he gets to the end, but then it fades a bit. "What are you going to do once you get here? Find another job doing whatever the hell you do now?"

"No. I've got plenty of savings because I'm seldom home to spend it, and I've got a couple degrees--business and sound engineering--so I'll be all right until I can find something else to do." Bob waves a hand in circular motion that encompasses the entire city and says, "It's L.A. Maybe somebody needs a sound guy bad enough to forgive him for being a little rusty."

"What the fuck? Two degrees?" Matt gives Bob an annoyed little shove that nearly overbalances him. "How come you never mentioned this?"

"I don't know. It just never came up when you were sucking my dick--'oh, baby, yeah, suck it, by the way I went to school twice, you know.' That would have been so sexy."

Matt laughs and wraps a hand around the back of Bob's neck. "You're a dork. Lucky for you I like that in a boyfriend."

"Lucky for me," Bob says but it gets lost in Matt's mouth on his.

The end.


End file.
